


let's face it, pilots run off coffee

by xpatxperience



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Barista Keith (Voltron), Featuring Shiro's poor gay heart, M/M, Pilot Shiro, and Lance being well... Lance, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpatxperience/pseuds/xpatxperience
Summary: Shiro works thirteen or fourteen hours a day. Shiro needs to lift double his body weight on a daily basis. Shiro doesn't exactly understand the concept of having a sleep schedule. Ergo, Shiro really needs some caffeine and not a gay crisis in the middle of this low-rank coffee shop.





	let's face it, pilots run off coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lala_May](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lala_May/gifts).



    Shiro hates Starbucks. I mean, everyone hates Starbucks to an extent. It’s _Starbucks,_ for fucks sake. However, it was the only reliable joint on campus that could put out a decent cup of coffee in under ten minutes when he’s running late for ROTC.

     And it was closed. During finals. Because the universe hated him.

     Which meant that Shiro was forced to traipse the extra point two miles, which _yes,_ it did matter, thank you very much, to the closest caffeine seller. It was called _Viva la Pluto_ which, was a weird ass name for a coffee place, if you ask Shiro, which no one does.

     Anyway, Shiro drags all of his tiredness packed into a six foot three frame of beef, up to the counter where he looks over what weird ass coffee titles he’s going to have to decipher - now that he can’t just order a large Americano with an extra shot of espresso - because he hates himself.

    Just as he is about to ask what the hell a ‘Kuiper Belt’ entails, his eyes catch on a taped up paper sign hanging below the counter. It’s tastefully written on an eight point five by eleven sheet of printer paper and reads,

 

_Your barista is gay and single!_

_We recommend: You give him your number!_

 

   Well. That was direct. Straight to the point, or perhaps straight wasn’t the right word. Shiro directs his eye contact to said barista who is currently doing whatever it is to the coffee machines that makes it sound like they are doing a salt rinse.

   His name badge reads in handwriting almost illegible, _Keith._ Keith? Huh. Not bad. Shiro could get used to yelling that across the grocery store while shopping for vegetables slash putting bruises across his collar bone.

    Shiro would describe his hair as something designed to have his own fingers run through after a session of binge watching _Battlestar Galactica,_ or having wild passionate sex. Really, it's a draw either way.

    “Can I help you?” Keith asks. Shiro moves forward in a way he hopes doesn’t look like he’s a member of SWAT, sometimes that happens.

    “No. I mean- Yes. Sorry. I want American. I mean- shit, Americano, please. One. Thank you.” The words aren’t really said; they more or less fall out of his mouth and onto the counter between them making a sad plop noise. Shiro wishes that the old gods would smite him where he stands. Keith blinks at Shiro a couple times attempting to unpack any part of that sentence.

    “Oh. Kay. And what size is that going to be today?” Keith responds, and even with the dead customer service smile, it’s still the most beautiful smile Shiro has ever seen.

    “Large. Because I’m large.” Shiro immediately hates himself even more, which he didn’t think possible. “My _body_ that is. It - I need caffeine.” He adds on at the end, which he probably shouldn’t have.

    “Well, I’ll make this good and quick.” Keith replies back, punching some buttons with quick and nimble fingers.

    “Not too quick!” Shiro replies, his voice sounding horrendously distorted. “I like burnt shots!”

Shiro would like to put on the record that he does _not_ like burnt shots, but he _does_ like this barista’s face and if he had to choose between the two of them, those grey eyes would win every time.

    “Noted. That’ll be three sixty-nine.” Keith tells Shiro and Shiro has never found numbers to be sexier in his entire damn life. He pulls a crumbled up Abe Lincoln out of his pocket and hands it over, because if he is able to touch any part of this man’s body, he can then be satisfied getting run over by a truck, or a bus, or a train. Unfortunately, Keith just grabs old Abe’s face and returns to him some change which will probably live in the cup holder in his car until it’s inevitable use at a parking meter.

    Then it’s over. The most alluring conversation Shiro has ever had with a confirmed member of his same gender and sexuality is officially over. Shiro now gets to go back to climbing up rock walls and pretending that it’s totally normal to think pilot trivia facts are an acceptable replacement for a personality. Fuck! And he never even got to mention the fact that he too was single and gay and just about desperate enough to post it on a sign under his place of work.

   “Large Americano!” A voice shouted. No, THE voice shouted. There stood Keith holding out his order and Shiro realized that this was his fucking redemption arc. Prince Zuko was looking down on him and he could not let that glorious bastard down.

   “Thanks!” Shiro says putting his hand up to take the coffee, but not quite applying the pressure to grasp it. “And I think I short changed you, I forgot to throw in my number!”

   Keith looks at him like he professed his extensive theory on Bigfoot’s mating call, as in the squint of _what the fuck_.

   “Uh, the sign. It says you’re looking for- okay, that’s cool.” Shiro hasn’t even finished his sentence before Keith is leaning over the counter, directly into Shiro’s personal space, he might add. A fact he is not opposed to because this man smells like promise and future, as in to say, _Old Spice_ deodorant and _Dove_ shampoo.

   “Jesus Christ, Lance.” Shiro hears his possible future husband whisper under his breath. He then leans back and turns around walking into the back room shouting,

   “LANCE! You are a DEAD man!” A voice from the back returns in the pitch that a small child might use to get out of trouble,

   “What do you mean, Keith?”

   “You know damn well what I mean.” Keith reemerges and shoves out his hand to Shiro. “Hand me that damn sign.” Shiro, one who would ride or die for this man at this point, rips it off and thrusts it into his hand.

    Since that’s probably all the thrusting he’d be doing. It’s been a while.

    Keith disappears and he hears something that sounds like someone getting hit over the head and then the response of pain of someone being hit over the head. There might have been some gritted teeth and Death whispering as well. All Shiro knows is that Keith returns looking like how Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson must have felt after winning the Kid’s Choice Award for Male Buttkicker from _Journey 2: The Mysterious Island_.

    “Sorry about that. My coworker doesn’t understand what’s socially acceptable. We must forgive him because he has the processing power of a dead gnat.” Keith tells Shiro, smiling through his teeth.

   “It’s really no problem.” Shiro responds, suddenly feeling too large for the room. “The offer still stands.”

    “The offer?” Keith repeats back.

    “Of my number. It’s yours if you want it.” Shiro tell him, wondering if he has a pen on him to write with.

    “Oh,” Keith says, startled. “You want to give me your number?” He asks, like Shiro would be joking about the opportunity to give such a god like man his number.

    “I’d like to give you a lot more to go with it, but we can start with my number.” Shiro tells him honestly before grabbing a pen out of his pocket and scribbling the digits on a napkin and handing it over. Keith takes it which is a good sign. However, he doesn’t pocket it straight away but instead chooses to stare at it before folding it very carefully into quarters and sticking it in his front pocket, as if it contains safe secrets - and not a way to message Shiro’s out of date iPhone.

    “I think I’d like that…” Keith trails off leaving room for Shiro to insert his name.

    “You can just call me Shiro.” He replies.

    “Okay then, Shiro,” Keith repeats back and hearing his name on that man's lips might just send Shiro’s poor gay heart to the grave. It’s attached with the upturn of the lips, alluding to a smile and Shiro doesn’t think he’s ever made anything smile. “I’ll see you soon.”

    The bell above the door rings and another customer demands Keith’s attention. Shiro turns and leaves, coffee in one hand, and the feeling he just gave out his number for the last time in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> i've never seen voltron, what i know comes from tumblr, i wrote this in forty five minutes, it's eleven oclock, i'd like to reiterate - ive never seen voltron
> 
> its to celebrate the fact ya off brand jason todd it gay -- congrats you funky little lesbians, im proud of you
> 
> katie, this is for you 
> 
> EDIT: you can follow me on Tumblr where I post absolutely nothing about Voltron @i-am-arkham-asylum


End file.
